Sequela (41 page)

Kester drew his knees up in front of him and rested his forehead on their bony plinth. The back of his neck felt exposed, as if waiting for the blade to fall. Three hours. He lifted his head again, avoiding his own eye in the mirror, shuffled to the edge of the bed and began to dress. What an idiot. He looked around the room. It was a great golden sneer. Three hours. What was he supposed to do in here, alone, for three hours?

-o-

'Well?' Farrell said. She was standing in Kester's apartment, fixing herself what looked like her third or fourth drink. 'How was it?'

She was plainly dressed, no logos, nothing, hair tied back in an impossibly smooth pony tail. Her skin was clear, makeup-less. It looked almost translucent. She wasn't wearing. The way the pinched waist of her green dress held her body should have aroused a pang of want in Kester, but he was numb.

'How was what?'

'Your royal opening.'

'You didn't wait for me.'

'You were taking your time. I had other things to attend to. So, did you enjoy it?'

Kester sighed and closed his eyes. He flopped down on the couch. This was one of those questions – one he could get so immensely wrong. The truth would crack him open. He wasn't good enough for the Princess; it would enrage Alexis, would make her doubt his worth. He would make a fantasy for her.

'What's better? What would make you happier – if I did enjoy it or I didn't?'

Alexis ignored his question and added a couple of ice cubes to her drink.

'This is what you wanted for me, isn't it?' he asked her. 'Superstardom? I thought it would make you happy.'

'Me too. But this isn't quite what I had in mind.'

Alexis took up her drink and perched on the edge of the dentist's chair. Kester's mind flashed a flick-book of images of her on the chair, tied up, tied down, blindfolded, painted. She hadn't asked to wear his next set of viruses. Not yet.

'Well?' Alexis probed again.

'She's a princess – you saw the setting – it was like being in a Mills and Boon, sort of. That was enjoyable, to start with. Who wouldn't enjoy that on some level?' His fantasy was faltering. He changed the subject. 'It's not like I haven't done it before. It was just like being in a bigger booth. One with gold fittings.'

'That was different. Things are different now.'

'It didn't feel that different,' Kester lied. 'I mean it wasn't like she handed me a wad of grubby tenners. Like you said, it's only a week, then I'm off the menu.' He tried to sound convinced.

'It felt different to me.' Alexis took a gulp of her drink, then clattered the glass down on the side table next to her.

Kester pushed himself up off the couch and walked over to where she sat.
The Princess didn't want me. She thinks I'm a dirty little prostitute.
What would he normally do? He put a hand to her cheek. She pushed it away. Kester took her shoulders in his hands and laid her back on the chair. He took a long look at her body, revealed by the liquid fabric of her v-neck dress, willed it to arouse him, reached in and put a hand to her breast. She slapped him in the face. He squeezed and she slapped him again. He put his other hand on her waist. Slap. Slid it down between her legs. Slap.

'You've got to be gentle with me, Lex,' he said, leaning in and biting her neck. As he came back up – slap. 'I'm expensive goods.' He unzipped the front of her dress fully and put his face down to her belly, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin. He wanted to just lie there, cry.

'Wash,' Alexis said, eventually.

'I washed already.'

'Wash again.' There was the glimmer of a smile on her lips.  

Kester undressed and got in the shower, leaving Alexis in his living room. He stood there, fingers pruning, until his door monitor beeped. He wished there was something for Alexis to slam on her way out, to close the scene properly. He closed his eyes. There was no way he could rise to the occasion tonight.

-o-

Saturday night came thundering around like a pack of wild animals in heat. Kester started to cry. He couldn't stop himself. His penis was sore. The nurse who had injected him before the show seemed to have limited experience handling a syringe. It didn't feel erect; it felt as if it was swollen, hard with infection, like it was wrapped in nettle leaves. He wondered if she had got the dosage right. Gaunt hadn't said anything about the injection causing him pain – just that it would solve his little problem. Kester prayed for his pain killers to kick in.

Pera Pera was barking through her latest hit in front of the curtain and here he was behind it, ready to play his part. She would sing the song, Kester would appear on stage then disappear behind a curtain with her. Silhouettes were all the audience would see; Yule had been clear about it. Yet here Kester was, naked, on all fours, gagged and chained up in a giant Perspex box. They'd tied him up without him really
realising
what was going on, distracted by the pain in his penis and by Pera Pera's explanation that there had been a change of plan and he was to play the part of a character from her new video. Before he knew it he was gagged and stripped and by the time he'd remembered about his dog tags, he was unable to reach them. This wasn't part of the agreement.

Kester shuddered. The music had stopped and Pera Pera's voice was honking away front of stage, no doubt giving him an unfit introduction. In a minute he was going to have to look like he was enjoying this. He would have to brazen it out. He surveyed the rack of sex toys on the wall of the box, then closed his eyes. It was only one song, he reminded himself. Nobody really wanted to watch the two of them at it for any longer than one song. And he was playing a part – it was just acting. People would appreciate that. How bad could it be?

-o-

Alexis' head was thumping, pulsing from the inside out. She kept going over what Yule had told her: it was fine, the fans loved it, they could ride out all the other stuff. He was right, no doubt, but that didn't stop her feeling sick. Kester wasn't built for this. Kester the superstar was a cardboard cut-out, would blow over too easily in the storm. She needed to keep him with her so that she could prop him up, but she knew he would be mad at her, or worse. She had done the deals with the clients, set up the appointments. It had all happened at her hand. If she had grown a pair, spoken to Chen already…

'Happy Birthday, Lex.'

Kester's voice made Farrell start; it was quiet, accusatory. She looked up from her desk to see him walking slowly through her door, tense, as if he might break if he moved too sharply. Her seat was suddenly uncomfortable. The room was hot. Her glass desk misted up beneath where her hand was sitting.

'Kester, I'm busy.' She avoided his stare. If she looked at him his pain would be her pain too.

'What are we going to do about this?' He was holding out his Book, one of the news sites loaded with the Sunday headlines.

Farrell stood and turned to the window. She didn't want to look at him. It was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had thought she could take a week of it – the reward would be great enough at the end – but this was brutal. Pera Pera was nuts. But what was done was done.

'What's done is done.' She gazed out over the City, looking up at the sky and inviting its cool emptiness in.

'Have you seen the headlines?'

Farrell heard the slap of his Book on her desk. Of course she had seen the headlines. BRITAIN'S TOP SCIENTIST? – a picture of him in the box, being tortured by Pera Pera, vitals blurred out. KESTER HITS NEW LOWE – him being pulled back and forth by her carnivorous labcoated dancers, his naked body smeared in luminous paint. The images were imprinted on her brain. She felt as if it had all been aimed at her, that Pera Pera, staring straight out at the camera was looking at her with a big
fuck you
in her eyes.

'Everybody is laughing at me,' Kester said. 'My reputation…'

The tension in Farrell's throat spread upwards, tightening her soft palate, and down and out across her shoulders as if her arms were making ready to lash out.

'The rest of the appointments are in private,' she said, trying to batten down her anger, sound confident. 'This will all pass.'

'Not even you will look at me! I'm a laughing stock! I've got fucking whip lashes on my back – my dick is a disaster area and I've only got two bloody days to recover before the next appointment.'

'You'll go through with them?'

'Alexis. If both our careers didn't depend on this I wouldn't be doing it at all.' Kester drew a visible breath. 'If Chen doesn't go for our deal –'

'We need Yule,' Alexis said. She couldn't talk about Chen now. If they didn't focus and get themselves out of the shit now, there would be no conversation to be had with Chen tomorrow. 'Yule can read the public mood.'

She braced herself and turned to look at Kester. He was paler than usual, his hair messier than usual. He looked small. What could she do? She wouldn't pity him. Who could love a man they pitied? She tapped her Book.

'Yule, are you free? Kester and I are coming up.'

Farrell drew a deep breath and focused on her chest rising and falling, stretched herself out into her extremities. She became aware of the cloth on her skin, the cool breath of the air con, the soft pull of her tied-back hair as she moved her head. Smoothing one hand over the skin of her inner forearm, she felt more like herself.

'Don't panic,' she said to Kester with a smile, approaching him with measured strides. 'I'll
organise
for a team to meet us up at the PlayPen this afternoon. Masseuse, physio, doctor, acupuncture, whatever you want. Get some hands on you.' Stretching an arm out as she reached him, she slid her hand to the back of his neck and drew him in for a kiss. When he turned his head away, avoiding her lips, she rubbed her cheek across his like a cat. 'We'll get you back in shape. I'll see to it personally.'

They walked in silence to Yule's office. Kester followed Alexis three paces behind, but she could feel the weight of his presence, a pressure at her back.

Yule greeted them with a pitying look. Farrell gave him a tight smile. No pity. She wouldn't have Kester pitied. He was a superstar.

'Don't worry, Kester, we'll sort this out,' Yule said.

A news report was running in the background on his wall. Alexis glanced up at it and an adrenalin pulse hit her crown. Kester couldn't see this. If he hadn't seen it already it would tip him over the edge. She
signalled
to Yule to switch it off.

'Wait,' Kester said, as Yule reached for his Book, 'that's the Institute – that's the Institute Director – what are they doing there?'

'Just…probably…' Yule said, fumbling with his Book. He looked to Farrell for help.

'Kester, let's just focus –'

'Put the sound on.' Kester pointed at Yule.

Yule looked apologetically at Farrell and turned the sound on.

'Coming just a day after the news that Kester Lowe's former place of employment, the world renowned London Institute of Immunology and Viral Medicine is to have all funding and activity suspended indefinitely –'

'What?' Kester said.

'– many people are asking, "Just what was he thinking?" Last month, the Institute, one of the Government's largest scientific contractors and world leading research facility, suffered a suspected breach of security leading to a dangerous virus being released into the Pigs' supply chain and infecting hundreds of City residents. While the MoD investigators here at the Institute have turned up nothing so far, they say that this is almost certainly where the breach occurred. All funding to the Institute's work has been suspended until further notice and the Director here says that continued employment for the
organisation's
200 staff cannot be guaranteed. We spoke earlier with the Director.'

Farrell glanced at Kester. He sat down abruptly on the closest chair and stared at the display, unblinking. The report cut to a clip of the longer interview Farrell had seen earlier.

'This is a gross public humiliation. Doctor Lowe's actions are crude and callous. The fact that he would go through with such a stunt when we may have just had the biggest blow to scientific progress this century just goes to show how out of touch with reality Doctor Lowe really is. His actions degrade the whole scientific community.' The Director's face was grim. The whole scene was grey: his suit, his skin, the building, the sky. The report cut back to studio.